When passion fails us, and when Woman fails,— When we are weary of the roses' scent And not one song can bring our souls content, Yea, when the very flush on Love's cheek pales,— What help is left us then,—what hope avails? What pleasure tarrieth when Love's robes are rent Asunder, and his golden hours are spent, And the wind whistles round his house and wails? When even Woman's lips are no more red, And the sun ceases, and the silver moon Is tarnished, and the pleasant stars are dead, And sorrow murmurs through the bowers of June, Is there a Power to lift the weary head And turn life's darkness into golden noon? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FALCONER OF GOD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET NATURA NATURANS by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH MORTAL COMBAT by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE SONNET TO A FRIEND WHO ASKED, HOW I FELT ... MY INFANT TO ME by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES by CHARLES D'ORLEANS TO ANTHEA [WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING] by ROBERT HERRICK LAUS VENERIS (A PICTURE BY BURNE-JONES) by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON |